Chapter 20
I stare up at the canopy bed above and wonder why my grandmother thought a night on this mattress would magically fix my life.
It didn’t.
The pillows were too firm, and I have a crick in my neck.
The blankets, especially that velvet-covered quilt, were too heavy.
The mattress, too soft.
My discomfort in the bed wasn’t the only thing that kept me up. The armor positioned in the far corner of the room creeped me out, as did the shadow it cast on the wall. Then there was the strange creaking noises the French doors made each time a wind slammed against them.
Once or twice, I imagined some spooky castle ghost was trying to barge into my room and kill me in this too-big bed while I tried but failed to sleep.
Mostly, though, I was haunted by ghosts of a different kind. Wispy memories, not as faded and faint as I’d like them to be.
Brock.
I kept thinking about him, even though I don’t want to.
I remembered the sweet things he said to me. The way he looked in the golden evening light at the edge of the pond just before he kissed me for the first time. I remembered the sound of his laugh and how he savored sitting out under the stars with me and roasting marshmallows. I remembered how much he dreaded his time with the dogs and how he grew to love their presence in his home. It was fun listening to him perfect his dog voice. He could be such a goof, when he let himself relax.
But… our time together didn’t mean anything to him.
Only two days have passed since I was fired, so of course, the memories that haunt me are still fresh.
Fresh, vibrant, and cringe-inducing.
I keep coming back to one fact.
I was a fangirl idiot. A Shipping Minion who fell for the Head Honcho on the fourth floor.
I was out of my league and too dumb to see it.
I flip to my side and get bombarded by a wall of puffy, rotund pillows. There are so many pillows on this bed, yet not one of them felt comfortable to me.
Early morning sunlight filters through royal-purple drapes that cover the double glass doors. Around the rooms, the paintings come to life with the morning light. Hat-adorned heads smile down at me, mocking my fatigue.
I flop like a fish and try the other side.
More faces peer down from framed canvases to watch my struggle. Starched collars, ornate jewelry, those same mocking smiles rendered in slick oil paints.
There is no way I’m staying holed up in this room until eleven o’clock.
I’ll check out early,I think as I flop to my back with a huff.
I spent my hard-earned money on this room in hopes it would fix my life.
Nope.
That’s not going to happen.
My life is totally unfixable.
I stuff my face into the pillow in an effort to block out the sunlight. It is Saturday morning, and that doesn’t even matter to me. I used to love weekends, but they’re not so special when you’re between jobs.
I want this day to be over.
I wish I didn’t come here.
Negative thoughts swirl through my head as the room gets brighter and brighter. When a gentle knock raps against the door, I figure it must be room service. I’ve been told I’ll be served tea and scones at nine o’clock.
I shuffle to the door, tightening my robe around me as I go.
I’ll cancel.
I’m not hungry.
I open the door.
“Your breakfast, ma’am.” The young woman in a castle-staff uniform of black slacks and prim white-collared shirt smiles kindly. She pushes her little cart forward. It’s a rolling table with ruffled curtains hanging on all four sides. The top is crowded with a covered plate, teapot, pitcher of cream, sugar bowl, and a dainty, flower-patterned China teacup.
The teacup rattles against the matching saucer beneath it as she rolls the cart toward the French doors.
I don’t deserve this.
“I’m sorry you came all the way here with all that,” I murmur as the young woman straightens the silverware and napkin on the tray. “I think I’m going to pass on breakfast.”
“Oh, you can’t pass!” she gasps. “Not on a breakfast this good. The scones are made with real cream, and the tea is the same kind Isabella herself used to order from England, with hand-picked leaves and the finest ingredients.”
When she pivots to face me, sunlight brightens her cheeks. She smiles as she looks around the room. “Isn’t it special in here?” she whispers. “I’ve always wanted to stay here, myself. You are really lucky.”
Hardly.
Brock tricked me.
He dazzled me, charmed me, fed me lines.
He did all that, and I ate up the whole thing like a mouse, nibbling cheese before the hungry cat arrives.
“Oh, I know it’s sort of intense to be here surrounded by so much beauty,” she says, as though that’s the reason for my frown. “It’s a lot to take in, isn’t it? Sometimes, when I walk around the castle, I can only look at one thing at a time. If I try to look at all of it, I get sort of dizzy. Oops, I almost forgot!” She bends down and pulls a little curtain on the side of the cart to the side. The vase she pulls out is topped with a pink rose, the blossom fully in bloom.
The sight of it makes me immediately think of my grandmother.
Grandma wanted me to be here; I can’t give up now,I think as I look at the pale pink rose.
“There you go! Enjoy yourself.” She bustles away.
I tiptoe up to the cart. She left it right beside the rose-colored armchair facing the French doors.
Slowly, carefully, I lower down into the seat.
My grandmother’s words filter into my mind.
‘You’re so very humble, Gwen. It would be good for you to let yourself feel like a real queen, for once. Get yourself that room, no matter what it takes. Wake up in that canopy bed and order a cup of tea and a nice breakfast, and then sit by those beautiful doors and look out at the view.’
I lift the tea pot’s lid. The scent of bergamot wafts out of the amber liquid within.
‘You won’t want to put yourself last—to hide away, like you do—once you realize what you’re really worth.’
I doctor my tea with a touch of milk and too much sugar in honor of my grandmother’s memory.
The tea’s steam rises up to my mouth, my nose. I breathe in the smell again, then draw in a sip.
It brings me back in time, this tea.
There were so many times when my grandmother treated Clay and me to sugary, milky tea in the Ceremony Room, just downstairs.
‘That’s what I want for you,’ she said from her spot under that colorful quilt in the hospital room. ‘I want you to know that you deserve all the love in the world.’
Slowly, slowly, I lift my eyes and look out through the French doors.
The castle lawns are covered in the faintest layer of white frost. The fine, powder-sugar-like layer is melting away by the second.
Sunlight sparkles off the melting silvery whiteness. The dark green holly and hemlock hedges gleam, newly cleansed by the night’s frost. Treetops bristle upward out on the lawn’s edge, a line of pine-green and warm-toned foliage.
And out past those pines, oaks, and maples, is downtown Windsor. It’s down a slope, in the valley.
From up here, I can see rooftops.
I sip my tea and busy myself with examining the gray, black, green, and brown rectangles. I spy the Post Office’s roof, the Town Hall’s, and the steeple of the church on Pine Street.
And there is Epic Elevate Headquarters, where I spent six years of my life.
Where I met Brock.
Where everything went wrong.
When I close my eyes, it’s because I want to cry. I’ve done that a lot over the past couple days. So much so that my mom wanted to go see a doctor because she thought I had pink eye.
Nope, I’ve just cried until my eyes feel so scratchy, I could hardly blink.
Right now, no tears come. Maybe I shed them all over the last few days. Maybe I have nothing left.
And then—of all things—I think of one of those cheesy inspirational videos Brock was so fond of sending out each Wednesday afternoon.
This is the last thing I want to think of. Every thought of Brock hurts.
But there it is, playing in my head: his face, his “on” smile—the one he gives to audiences, interviewers, and the public. ‘When you think you have nothing left, that’s when things get really good. That’s when you push through and find out what you’re capable of. You find parts of yourself you never had to use before.’
I have nothing left,I think, with my eyes still closed.
That doesn’t feel right.
Not at all.
There is a strength in me I’ve never used before. I’ve never had to. I’ve never felt this empty or this lost.
But right now, reaching for that strength is the only thing I can do. So, I do. I reach down into the depths of my being. I search for some part of me that can deal with everything going on in my life.
I think about my grandmother, and her smile. Her laugh. I remember how she looked at the world and noticed the sweet things. My mind turns to my mother, and all the love she gave me over the years. The hugs, the comfort, the songs she sang. My aunts, too, with their recipe books and gardening gloves.
These women in my life, they had to do battle at times. Life can be hard. They kept right on giving love.
Maybe it’s possible I’m not empty. Maybe I’m stronger than I know.
Miraculously… magically… something inside of me shifts.
The doubts echoing in my mind quiet down. They’re replaced by a sensation of well-being. Is this what confidence feels like? Assertiveness? I don’t know. All I know is I feel much more capable than when I sat down in this chair moments ago.
Worthy, too.
Worthy of loving myself and worthy of giving love to the world.
When my eyes open, it feels like I’m looking at a new scene.
The colors around me look brighter. The red walls are vibrant, alive, beautiful just for me. Steam curls up off my cup, carrying the delicious milky-sweet scent of the black tea. The China tea cup, with its delicate rim, is a gift… and I am worth it.
I finish my tea, grateful for the taste and feel of warmth on my tongue. I gaze out at the view as I polish off the fresh-baked scone. Then, I get to my feet.
When I find my phone, I don’t hesitate. I dial Clay.
He sounds sleepy when he answers.
But I’m not groggy or fuzzy-headed, like him, Not at all. My voice sounds clearer to my own ears than it has in a long time—maybe ever. “Clay, I need you to meet me at the Blue Moose Coffee Shop in an hour. We have to talk.”
“Hrmph… gack.”
“I’m going to need you to use your words, sleepyhead.”
“Late night gaming… maybe later… like two or something?”
“Be there in one hour.” I sound like a freaking school teacher.
Some part of me—a hidden, pushed-down part—is coming to life. She’s bold. She knows what she wants. She is a queen.
Sometimes, she even gives orders. Even to her baby-faced, sweet-as-pie, sensitive brother.
This part of me has been quiet for so long. Since my childhood. For years and years, I’ve been compliant and agreeable. I’ve been humble. I’ve been shy.
And all the while, this part of me slumbered.
Not anymore.
I didn’t sleep great last night, but maybe there was a touch of magic in that tea cup, like my grandmother promised, in addition to the caffeine, because right now I feel wide awake.
Wide awake, and excited.
* * *
An hour later,I sit down across from a bleary-eyed Clay at the Blue Moose Coffee Shop.
He slides a paper cup of coffee my way. “You sounded different on the phone,” he says.
“Yeah, I feel different.”
He doesn’t pry into that statement. “Was the Queen’s Room pretty cool?”
“So cool.”
“Grandma always said that castle was the best thing about this town.”
“I think she was right.”
I don’t even feel nervous as I tent my hands together, fingertips touching, and study my little brother.
Brock did this same gesture once when I spoke with him. I thought it looked so intimidating, a pose I’d never pull off. Right now, though, I feel like a boss. A person in charge.
Clay’s too busy stirring sugar into his drink to talk. He’s unshaven, and his shoulders are slumped as usual. This morning, when I look at him, I don’t see his baby-faced cheeks, and I don’t remember pulling him around in a wagon.
I see a man who’s nearly thirty. A person with just as many hidden capabilities as I have.
I underestimated myself,I think as I sip my coffee. And I underestimated Clay, too.
“Listen, we have to talk,” I say.
“‘Bout what?”
“About the house and our roles, fixing it up. What’s expected, what’s fair.”
“Sure. What’s up?”
“I need you to take on more responsibility. I’ve been spending a lot of my own funds on contract labor, and that has to stop. I want you to pitch in more with the list of tasks. I’ve been afraid to talk to you about it because I feel so protective of you. But me coddling you doesn’t help anything, does it? Tiptoeing around the issues, hiding things… that doesn’t work. I think the state of the house reflects that.”
He sits back in his seat. When he rubs his fingers along the stubble on his chin, my first doubts come crashing in.
Did I just break my fragile brother? Is he going to collapse, retreat back into the video games he loves so much, and not talk to me for the rest of my days on this earth?
No. I force the barrage of nonsense in my brain to just stop already.
And then, I wait.
He rubs his chin some more, then sips his coffee. “Cool.”
I arch an eyebrow. A grin tickles the corner of my mouth. “Cool? That’s it?”
He breaks into a smile. “I mean, cool that you’re finally talking to me about this. I knew you were upset about something, just couldn’t figure out what. Yeah… I’ve been slacking, big time. I guess my knee isn’t as bad as I thought at first. Maybe I played that up too much. Sorry about that. I thought that was better than me getting in the way. I didn’t realize you wanted more out of me.”
“I do. And you’re capable of more.” I reach across the table and squeeze his hand. “In all sorts of ways, you know? Like, your whole life. You’re going to find a job you love and maybe a relationship, too, if you want. Get out of the house… the whole thing. And flipping our place would be a really great start.”
He nods. When he meets my eye, there’s a new spark lighting his irises. “Yeah… maybe if we made some money, I could put down a deposit on a rental.”
“Absolutely! Hey, my boss told me about these classes at the hardware store. They’re doing a how-to series about saws, coming up real soon. Chain saws, circular saws, and table saws. I could sign us up.”
He smiles. Actually smiles. I haven’t seen Clay smile this big in years. “Yeah. Let’s go for it. That sounds rad.”
“Sweet.” As soon as I say the word, I think of my Grandma Regina—the Queen of All Things Sweet.
If she was here, she’d hug and kiss both of us and tell us she was proud of us. And then she’d probably order a cup of tea and heap three spoonfuls of sugar into it.
“I think Grandma would be pretty impressed if the two of us actually turn a profit on what she left us,” I say.
The whole-new-world feeling that snuck into me in the castle is even stronger now.
There are possibilities before me.
Possibilities I never considered before… and that feels really good.
Clay and I get so caught up in a conversation about the renovations that I don’t even register the sight of Mandy when she walks past. That probably has something to do with the fact she chopped her hair short.
I blink a few times when she waves at me, then I wave back. “Hey, Mandy! Wow, you look great with that short haircut. It’s a whole new look!”
She primps the ends proudly, then stoops to wrap me up in a hug. “I don’t remember if I thanked you or not. That day was such a blur… from talking to you in the break room to the minute I walked out. If I failed to thank you, now I am. You saved me, Gwen.”
I wave this off. “Nah, you would’ve made moves even if we never had that chat. What are you up to now?”
“I’m testing recipes for my cupcake shop!” She squeals and rubs her hands together with happiness. “Can you believe it? Sweet Delights is the name I’m thinking.”
“Sounds dank,” Clay offers.
“My brother approves,” I tease, “That means you’ve got the twenty-something market on lockdown. And I have to say, I love the name, too.”
“Thanks, guys.” She beams at us. “Wow, it is great to see you, Gwen. I’ve heard a buzz about you lately. Is it true you quit Epic?”
I tuck my hair behind my ear and fidget with my cup. “Not quite. I was fired.”
“No way! That is so lame. Brock is such a jerk. He has some serious control issues. Like, he wants to be in charge of everything. He expects everything to be up to his standards, but his standards are totally crazy. Sky high. He’s impossible to work for. You’re better off without him in your life, believe me.”
No, I’m not. The thought flashes inside me like heat lightning. I miss him.
I ignore those thoughts.
After all, he did fire me—so maybe he is a jerk.
“Yeah, well, no one’s perfect,” I say instead of joining in on the trash talk. “I’ll start looking for something else soon. I realized recently this town is super short on doggy care options, so maybe I’ll start something up. Walks, dog-sitting, that kind of thing.”
Clay nods along as I say this. “Cool idea.”
Mandy approves, too. “Sounds like you could fill a niche. But you know, if you want to stick with the line of work you were doing at Epic, you could check out Clarice Manning’s operation over in Riley. It’s super similar to what Brock has going on, and she’s usually hiring. I think she’s growing pretty fast, really making it happen.”
“Wow, good for her.”
“Oh! You might be interested in this since you’re thinking about getting into doggy care. I’m sure you had to talk with Vanessa Von Kemp this past week…”
I straighten up. “Yeah, I had to ship her bikini bottoms the day you quit. Actually, she kept texting and calling, and she ended up visiting him.”
“Right! I figured you had to deal with her. I bumped into her the other day outside of the grocery store, and she was with her little Maltese. Cute little thing, looks like a snowball. She calls him Cocoa Bear; I don’t know why. He’s super yappy. You know how those little dogs can be. Anyway, she’s looking for a dog walker twice a day. Maybe you should reach out to her. Oh, by the way, guess what I found out? She’s actually Clarice Manning’s cousin.”
“Really?” I ask.
Mandy nods. “Yep. They’re super close, almost like sisters. I guess Vanessa’s parents passed away when she was young, so she was raised with Clarice. Anyway, she went on and on about how Cocoa needs more outings.”
As I sip my coffee, I feel myself go on high alert.
Anything about Vanessa interests me, given she was the last woman with Brock before he and I had our thing.
Some cattiness inside me is stirring.
I don’t want to feel jealous right now, but I do.
As I file away the tip about the dog-walking opportunity, some other part of me is still hooked on the bit about how Vanessa and Clarice are close.
Mandy goes on. “Actually, she’s really interesting to talk with. Maybe she’d be good to work for, too, even though it’d be a long drive to get over to Riley twice a day. But if you stacked some other dog-walking gigs in that area, it might work out. You could ask her if she has any other friends who need pet visits. She knows everyone over there. You know, I thought she was such a ditz because of how desperate she acted about Brock, but she’s actually very sharp. She gave me all sorts of business tips ‘cause I told her I’m thinking of starting my bakery over that way.”
I sip my coffee, still lost in my own thoughts—and my curiosity.
Did Brock know about Vanessa’s connection to Fit For Life?
Mandy chats about bakeries in Riley and finally pauses for air.
“I didn’t realize Vanessa had anything to do with Fit For Life,” I murmur.
“What’s the big deal?” Clay asks. He’s reading me, as always. He can see I’m intrigued.
I shrug, still trying to sort it out. “I guess I’m just surprised Brock got involved with Vanessa at all, given that connection. I mean, he’s always been in competition with Fit For Life. I wonder if he knows Vanessa’s part of Clarice’s family.”
“I doubt it,” Mandy says as she primps the end of her hair again “She doesn’t have the same last name, and she keeps the connection quiet. I think it’s because Clarice has such a bad reputation around these parts. You know, for being nasty and rude. I heard once Clarice actually got a guy over at the Lakeshore Marina fired because of how he docked her boat. I guess he…”
She rattles off the gossipy story and then checks her watch. “Yikes! I’ve got to run. But you really should call Vanessa about the dog-walking. I think she’s looking to hire immediately.”
“Yeah, thanks. Maybe I will.”
My life is full of possibilities. I don’t need to work for Clarice Manning or Vanessa Von Kemp. There are plenty of other things I could do with my time.
And yet, I’m definitely intrigued.
I judged Vanessa as a ditz, and now I realize I got her all wrong.
I hate it when that happens.
Maybe I should give her a chance.
When Clay gets caught up in a chat with an elderly man at the table next to us, I take the opportunity to log into my social media account on my cell. I don’t have Vanessa’s contact information now that I ditched the sparkly pink phone. She’s easy to find on social, so I shoot her a message to inquire about the dog-walking gig.
Her response comes in faster than I expected. She wants to meet at the dog park in Riley at two o’clock.
‘My day’s wide open,’ I type. ‘I’ll be there.’
My life is really weird right now, so why not add one more weird thing? Meeting with a woman who dated Brock was not how I expected to spend my Saturday. And yet, the appointment now looms in my mind.